


My name is Oliver Queen. After pirates attacked...

by Easnadh



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Pirates, Pirates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Easnadh/pseuds/Easnadh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is a pirates AU. I originally started it as part of the Olicity Hiatus Project AU Fic challenge, but then I got attached to the idea so I'm going to continue it. I'd explain the setup, but I think it's more fun to pick it up as you read. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

The ship was getting closer. From his vantage point atop the cliff, Oliver watched it approach with narrowed eyes. Its colours were unfamiliar to him and it flew no national flag or royal crest. His jaw clenched. It definitely wasn’t a navy ship, not of any country he knew, and he had trouble believing it was a merchant vessel. For one thing it was headed directly for Lian Yu, and Oliver had been stranded here long enough to know that the island wasn’t exactly an international trading hub. The fact that he knew the Caribbean island by a Chinese name was proof of that; it was the name bequeathed to the island by another shipwrecked sailor who had somehow found his way there from China. Oliver wondered if the other lost souls who had washed up here over the years had known the island by other names in other tongues. Somehow, he suspected those names, just like "Lian Yu", would all have been different versions of "Hell". 

He stayed hidden, crouched behind a clump of bushes, his hand tightening reflexively on his crudely made bow. Since he’d been stranded here over a year ago he had learned not to trust strangers too easily and, no matter how much he wanted to run down to the beach and wave his arms at the approaching ship, experience had taught him caution. Besides, there was a very small, but very real chance they might be pirates.

His expression soured at the thought. Pirates were the reason he was here in the first place. It was pirates who had attacked his father’s galleon, pirates who had… He stopped, shutting down the tide of images that were already beginning to surface. There was no point in revisiting bad memories, and now was definitely not the time to get lost in dreams of retribution and revenge. Beneath him one of the ship’s boats was already halfway towards the beach, the larger vessel anchored further out in the calm bay. The occupants of the boat were too far away to make out clearly, but he could tell there were about ten of them. It was time to move.

Oliver crept back from the cliff’s edge, keeping low, and then edged back into the trees. Once he was safely hidden in the jungle he began moving faster, racing along well-worn paths towards his camp. He reached it in minutes, a small cave nestled into the base of the cliffs, the entrance hidden from view by clumps of thick vegetation. It had been his home for most of his time on the island.

Knowing he had no time to waste Oliver didn’t hesitate, grabbing his spare arrows and the few small daggers he had managed to purloin or fashion during his time on the island. Looking around the tiny cave he could see nothing else he wanted to take with him. There was nothing about the past year that he wanted to remember, nothing that could invoke fond memories. Not that that mattered. This was not and never had been his life. The life of Oliver Queen lay back home, in Port Starling, managing the Queen family trading business. And no matter what he had to do, he was going to get home. For a moment his hand went to his chest, feeling the notebook securely fastened under his shirt. His mouth twisted in determination. The notebook was all he needed.

Without a backward glance Oliver left the cave, melting silently into the jungle. He knew exactly where he needed to go. Angling in the direction of the beach, he was careful not to make any unnecessary noise. If the sailors were looking for water, it wouldn’t be long before they found the small freshwater stream that cut across the sand and flowed into the bay. Oliver knew what they would do next; he had done it himself the day he had first dragged himself onto Lian Yu, half dead from hunger and thirst. And so he gripped his bow tightly in his hand and sped through the trees, mind focused and ready.

When he neared the freshwater pool that lay half a mile from the beach Oliver slowed, ears straining for the slightest sound. He secured his bow on his back and, barely breaking stride, leaped onto a fallen tree trunk. From there he vaulted towards a nearby tree and was hidden amongst its branches in seconds, his breath barely strained. The forest clearing lay open beneath him, its broad pool sparkling in the midday sunshine, the surrounding trees casting deep shadows across the ground. There was no one in sight, and for a moment Oliver thought he had been mistaken. But then the trees parted and a giant stepped into the clearing.

He was big. Far bigger than any man Oliver had ever seen in the safe, secure world of Port Starling. His arms alone were larger than some people’s torsos, and his chest was broader than some of the nearby tree trunks. A long, loose waistcoat fell from his shoulders, hanging down over light canvas trousers, and as he strode into the sunlight Oliver realised that the dark skin of his chest and arms was patterned with intricate tattoos. A large cutlass swung from his left hip, balanced by a dagger on his other side. As his eyes fell on the pool of sparkling water he smiled and the sunlight glinted off a single gold tooth.

Before he had left Port Starling Oliver had never so much as seen a pirate, but his last night aboard the Queen’s Gambit had changed all of that. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to sit still, fighting with the urge to launch himself into the clearing and exact retribution for his year of hell. He watched the man gesture and saw the other occupants of the ship’s boat move in response. The captain, then. The crewmen spread out around the clearing, filling their water pouches eagerly from the deep pool. They chatted quietly among themselves, too low for Oliver to hear, but every so often someone would laugh, loud and cheerfully. They seemed relaxed and obviously had no idea they were being watched, which suited Oliver perfectly.

He shifted his position in the tree, trying to figure out his next move. Then he heard it. A woman’s voice, young but muted, talking rapidly in a low whisper. His eyes scanned the group, falling almost instantly on a scrap of blond hair, its owner partly hidden by the captain’s bulk. Even as he watched she stepped out from behind the large man, her face animated as she spoke in hushed tones. She was gesturing at something in her hand, a worn-looking piece of parchment, and the captain seemed to be listening attentively, looking down at her with a patient expression on his face. Oliver watched in fascination, his eyes fastened on the dainty blond woman standing confidently in the midst of the pirate crew.

The first thing that struck him was her beauty. Her long blond hair framed a pale, delicate face and she was wearing a dress, of sorts. A red corset top fit snugly against her small frame, cinched at her waist with a dark belt, while a tan skirt fell jaggedly to her mid-thigh. The hem looked like it had been torn off in haste, and her modesty was saved only by a pair of cotton leggings. Oliver swallowed. He had never seen a woman dressed like that in his life. He quickly pushed that thought aside, along with any other awareness of her appearance. She was a pirate, nothing more.

He watched them tensely, fingers stroking his bow, waiting for an opportunity. He didn’t have to wait long. At a word from the captain the crew stirred, dispersing into the trees in all directions. After a few moments, only the captain and the woman remained. He bent low, murmuring something to her, and Oliver’s eyes narrowed as she grasped his waistcoat, rising up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the cheek. The big man smiled, touched her arm gently, and then he too disappeared into the trees. Oliver forced himself to stay still, watching as the woman stepped towards the pool. She glanced around briefly, apparently unafraid, and then sat down on the water’s edge, dangling her feet in the water. Setting the map to one side, she pulled a notebook from a pocket in her skirt and began studying it intently.

Seeing his chance, Oliver slipped down the tree trunk and circled around the clearing to place himself behind her. His year in the jungle served him well and he knew he didn’t make a sound. He took a shallow breath, squared his shoulders, and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Nocking his bow he emerged from the tree line, the arrow pointed squarely at her back, and then he cleared his throat. He was mildly satisfied to see her jump.

“Stand up, slowly,” Oliver said. He was surprised to find his voice was rough from weeks of disuse.

The woman carefully placed her notebook to one side and did as he asked, turning to face him. Their eyes met, hers huge and bright blue, and Oliver realised she was even more beautiful up close than she had been from across the clearing. She cocked her to head to one side and looked him up and down, and Oliver was suddenly conscious of his appearance, dressed as he was in the remains of the clothes in which he had been shipwrecked. They had once made up a fine suit, sewn especially for him by his family’s personal tailor, but now they hung from his body in rags.

“Hello,” the woman said easily, apparently unafraid. “I’m Felicity Smoak.”

Years spent moving in the higher echelons of Port Starling society forced Oliver’s manners to kick in.

“I’m Oliver Queen,” he heard himself reply.

She looked at him expectantly, and Oliver cleared his throat again, realising he had already lost control of the encounter.

“You are going to take me to your ship,” he said gruffly, trying to sound commanding.

“Alright… and then what? I mean, I’m assuming you have a plan of some kind?”

Oliver realised she looked mildly amused.

“Then… I’m going to take your ship to get home.”

“You are…” She hesitated slightly, her brow furrowing. “All by yourself? Do you know anything about boats?”

“I do actually… I have a crew. My men. Twenty of them, waiting in the jungle. We were shipwrecked here a few days ago. So, we’re going to take your ship.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows.

“Really?” She gestured towards his clothes. “Because you look like you’ve been here for a while.”

Oliver thought quickly. “This is how we dress where I’m from.”

It sounded ridiculous even as he said it and Felicity cocked her head to one side, a knowing smile curving her lips. To his surprise, Oliver felt himself smiling in response. It struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled at anyone, or anything.

But the smile fell from his face when he heard a small sound behind him and felt the sudden cold press of a knife across his throat.

“Lower you bow, Mr Queen,” a deep voice murmured in his ear.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Captain Diggle meet face-to-face, and Oliver finally leaves the island.

Oliver’s heart sank. He considered struggling with his assailant, his muscles tensing automatically, and felt the knife press closer to his throat.

“I wouldn’t advise that,” the other man said.

With a sigh, Oliver released the tension on his bow string and grudgingly lowered the weapon.

“Put it on the ground.”

His jaw clenching, Oliver did as he was told. He looked up to meet Felicity’s gaze and noticed the grim set of her mouth as she watched him. To his surprise, he thought he detected a faint hint of concern in her eyes. Odd as that was, it didn’t bode well for his prospects.

“He says he wants to get off the island,” Felicity announced calmly, looking past Oliver to the man behind.

“I heard that.”

The knife was abruptly removed and the captain stepped into Oliver’s field of view. He was not surprised to see who it was. Up close, the man seemed even bigger, and Oliver had to tilt his head upwards to look him in the eye. He swallowed, forcing himself not to back down from the captain's imposing size. The other man held his gaze, face unreadable as he studied Oliver. Then he gave an abrupt, short laugh and his fist shot out, catching him squarely on the jaw. It felt like the captain's entire weight was behind the punch and Oliver stumbled, falling back onto the soft grass, holding his face as he struggled to retain consciousness.

“That’s for threatening Felicity,” the captain said. His tone held just enough menace for Oliver to realise he had probably gotten off lightly.

“Dig,” he heard the woman say, and when the captain turned to look at her he realised it was a name. “We should take him with us.”

Oliver suppressed a gasp of surprise, his eyes on Felicity. Speechless, he watched her reason with the captain on his behalf. Ignoring him completely, she focused on the captain, speaking rapidly and punctuating her points with short gestures.

“We’ve lost a few hands already and we’re running light. I already showed you my calculations, so you know that the optimum crew size, for efficient attack, defense, and…”

“I remember.” The fondness in the captain’s voice was at odds with the narrow glance he threw in Oliver’s direction.

"Then you know that if we have to run with a light crew that could cost us up to three days, which would reduce our supplies and cost us more to stock up in the next port. Plus..."

She will still talking when the captain folded his arms and looked at Oliver speculatively. “We can’t trust him though.”

To Oliver’s surprise Felicity smiled, her mouth breaking open in a wide grin. “He wouldn’t be the first suspect hand we’ve had scrubbing our decks. And we do need men.”

The captain gave that small, short laugh again, but this time his eyes sparkled with good humour. “Alright," he said slowly, "we’ll take him. But only because you’re making sense.”

She grinned at him triumphantly. “Don’t I always?”

A few moments later Oliver was trudging through the jungle towards the beach, the captain and Felicity following closely behind. They hadn't bothered to tie his hands and he realised they did not expect him to run. Felicity was carrying his bow, quiver, and his small collection of daggers, and Oliver had not forgotten the giant cutlass that hung at the captain’s side. Besides, for now at least, he had no reason to flee. All that mattered was that they were going to take him aboard their ship and he was finally going to escape this godforsaken island. Whatever else happened he would deal with later.

Throughout their short walk to the beach Felicity kept up an animated conversation with the captain, or Dig, as she seemed to call him. Oliver was beginning to realise she did everything animatedly. Her voice rang out through the trees, silent only for the few short seconds it took for her to breathe. After his months of solitude, it was both refreshing and a little terrifying.

“After we stock up here,” she was saying, “I think we should cut southwest towards Cuba. At this time of year, there’s literally hundreds of vessels crossing this part of the Caribbean, over and back from the mainland. I’ve already mapped out the trade routes and worked out the perfect position for us, given the prevailing winds and the navy patrols, and…”

During all of this the captain listened patiently, only occasionally interjecting to ask a question, or to point out a flaw in Felicity’s reasoning. Oliver kept his mouth shut, the talk of piracy disgusting him, but listened carefully for any information that could help him later, when he needed to escape. He wondered if they knew the men who had attacked his father’s boat, if they were allies or even friends. His fists tightened automatically at his sides and he quickly relaxed them, hoping the captain hadn’t noticed.

By the time they got to the beach, the other crewmen were already waiting and the ship’s boat was already packed full of fruit and other supplies. A few seamen directed curious stares at Oliver, but most simply ignored him. Oliver got the distinct impression that half-dressed island castaways weren’t particularly noteworthy for this crew. Still, he kept his head down and followed the captain’s commands, climbing into the boat with the others and taking up a place at an oar. Part of him wanted to shout at the man, to tell him that he was Oliver Queen of Port Starling and not just one of his lowlife, thieving crew. But it was only a very small part, one that was shrinking even further with every day spent away from home. On another day that would have worried him, making him wonder how much of himself he was sacrificing in order to simply survive, but then the boat was pushed off and the waves lapped around it greedily, pulling it out to sea.

Oliver left the island.

He rowed with the others, doing his best to match their movements, but his thoughts and his eyes were trained on Lian Yu. The sun was beginning to set behind the island, illuminating its profile in deep red light, and with each stroke the boat moved further out into the ocean and the island grew a little smaller. He found that he could not look away, some part of him still unable to believe that he was finally leaving it behind. His eyes roamed over the mountains, the treeline, the cliffs, and memories assailed him. Until today, none of them had been good.

His skin prickled, feeling someone’s attention on him, and his gaze dropped automatically to Felicity. She was seated in the stern of the boat, watching him intently. Oliver noticed that his bow lay across her lap, her fingertips unconsciously picking at the rough wood. She must have recognised some of the emotion in his face because she gave him a small, reassuring smile, her eyes radiating understanding. Oliver swallowed and looked away, refusing to return her smile. Instead, he looked resolutely past her, towards the rapidly dwindling silhouette of Lian Yu.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver begins to get accustomed to his new life as a deckhand and tries to reach an understanding with Captain Diggle.

Felicity was on deck again. She stood on the quarter deck, above the captain’s quarters, leaning over the rail and staring into the water. Her hair hung loose, blowing in the wind, and every so often the breeze caught an errant lock and swept it across her face. Each time that happened she smiled softly, turning her face into the breeze and tilting her head until the wind caught her hair and fanned it out behind her once more. Oliver watched her surreptitiously, sensing her enjoyment, unable to keep from comparing her to the women of Port Starling. He thought of his fiancée, Laurel, and her immaculately styled ringlets, and imagined her horror at being seen in public with her hair loose, teased and tangled by the wind.

“You stare at her that way, captain will notice.”

Oliver’s head jerked around to meet the gaze of the small, older-looking deckhand scrubbing the deck next to him. The man grinned, his small blue eyes twinkling.

“It’s not like that,” Oliver responded in annoyance.

“If you say,” the man ducked his head, his thick accent twisting his words. “Even still, have care. Captain, he is fair man, but…” He raised his eyebrows, jerking his head in Felicity’s direction and flashed that knowing grin again. “Have care,” he said with a slight shrug.

Oliver sighed, returning to the portion of the deck he was ineffectually scouring and not bothering to correct the man. What did it matter to him what some deckhand thought? Still, he was careful not to look up again.

It had been three days, and during that time Oliver had eaten, slept, but mostly worked with the crew. And, for him apparently, working meant scrubbing. He had spent almost every waking moment scouring or swabbing different parts of the ship, and still hadn’t worked his way from one end to the other. His knees and back ached from kneeling, while his hands, already toughened from his year on the island, were red raw. It irked him that, despite his expensive education and elevated background, the first mate didn’t seem to think Oliver capable of anything beyond monotonous, mindless scrubbing. Well, that was going to change. He remembered something his father had once told him and glanced sidelong at the other deckhand. It never hurt to have allies. He sat back on his heels and turned towards the other man, proffering his hand.

“Oliver Queen.”

The older man raised his eyebrow quizzically, not moving from his position, and then quickly shot out his own hands to grasp Oliver’s.

“Anatoly Knyazev.” He turned back to his work instantly, but not before throwing a furtive glance over his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Anatoly,” Oliver responded, hoping to draw the man into conversation. Instead Anatoly huffed, shaking his head.

“Scrub,” he said curtly.

With a groan, Oliver returned to scrubbing, hoping he had at least begun some form of rapport with the other man.

* * *

 

Later that night Oliver strode confidently towards the captain’s cabin, ignoring the stares of the crewmen he passed. To his surprise, no one moved to stop him and he couldn't help wondering whether that was a good or a bad sign. He stopped before the captain’s door, steeling himself, and self-consciously straightened his ragged clothing. Almost instantly he felt embarrassed at his behaviour. He was Oliver Queen, of the Queen Trading Company, and these were mere pirates. He had no reason to feel ashamed. Still, his hand shook as he rapped at the door, and his breath caught while he waited for a reply.

“Come in.”

The captain’s voice reverberated through the wooden door and Oliver hesitated, trying to decide if he sounded relaxed or annoyed. He frowned at his fearfulness and lifted the latch, his feigned confidence causing him to open the door more forcefully than he intended. He looked up to meet the surprised eyes of the captain, frozen midstride between a large wooden desk and the door. Behind him, Oliver saw Felicity’s small figure bent over a pile of papers strewn across the table. She was wearing a thin set of spectacles, magnifying the already wide eyes she fixed on Oliver.

“You’re not bringing our dinner?”

Now the captain definitely sounded annoyed. He stayed where he was, halfway between Oliver at the door and Felicity at the desk, planting his feet and squaring his shoulders. Without waiting for an invitation, Oliver crossed into the cabin, swinging the door closed behind him.

“No. I’ve come to offer you a proposition.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling sarcastically. He looked over his shoulder towards Felicity, an unspoken communication passing between them.

“Very well. Let’s hear it.”

The captain moved back towards the desk and leaned against it, folding his arms. Felicity lowered the quill she held and leaned back in her chair, eyeing him speculatively. With a second glance at her, the captain cocked his head, indicating for Oliver to continue.

“Dig.” There was a sudden shift in atmosphere. “Captain Dig?” he hazarded.

“Captain Diggle,” was the curt, forbidding reply.

“Of course, Captain Diggle.” Oliver nodded in acknowledgement, but thought better of offering his hand. “My name is Oliver Queen, of the Queen Trading Company.”

Oliver paused, waiting for a reaction, and was surprised to find there was none. “Maybe you haven’t heard of my family and our business but,” he looked uncertainly between the two occupants of the cabin, “given your line of work, I find that surprising.”

“No, we’ve heard of the Queens,” the captain said dryly. He tilted his head and spat into the corner of the room. “What of it?”

“Well,” Oliver continued, his brow furrowing, “then you know that my family is very wealthy. If you return me to them, they will give you a handsome reward.”

“Hmmm,” the captain glanced towards Felicity again. “And by return you mean, take you back to Port Starling?”

“Yes, of course.” Oliver's frowned deepened. He failed to see the apparent difficulty.

“So you expect us to simply sail right into the Port, collect our reward, and then turn around and leave?” The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re overestimating your family’s sway. The local governor may not be that kindly disposed towards us, even if we do do him the favour of returning Port Starling’s favourite son.”

Oliver heard a small, almost reluctant, laugh and glanced towards Felicity, his eyes narrowing. For some strange reason he had expected her support. She caught his eye and reddened slightly.

“I'm sorry, Oliver,” she said gently, “but we really can't cross half the ocean to bring you home right now. We have a number of ventures planned, routes mapped out, it’s not that…” She took a breath, giving her head a slight shake. “Maybe in a year…?” She looked towards the captain, but jumped when Oliver’s sudden shout echoed through the cabin.

“No! A year is too long!” 

Captain Diggle took a step towards him, arms unfolding as his chest expanded. Oliver refused to step back. 

“You don’t understand!” he cried. He looked desperately between them and saw Felicity stand up from behind the desk.

“Then explain it to us?” she asked softly.

Oliver swallowed, anger dissipating as he fought a wave of helplessness. 

“I need to find my sister.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's been a really long time since I've updated this! Work has been manic and I had a bad case of writer's block. Anyway, here's the next installment. Enjoy!

“Your sister?” Felicity asked, her voice gentle. “What happened to her?”

Oliver could hear the concern in her voice and knew she already suspected the answer. Captain Diggle shifted in front of him and Oliver caught the warning look in his eye. Still, the big man backed off, leaning against a small side table with his arms folded, his gaze firmly fixed on Oliver.

Oliver took this as his cue to speak. He gathered his thoughts, slightly rattled by the unexpected emotions suddenly surging to the surface. This would not be easy to talk about, especially to such an audience. He took a long shuddering breath, keeping his eyes firmly fastened on the floor as he struggled to keep his feelings in check.

“My sister,” he began shakily, “Theodora. Thea, as everyone called her… _calls_ her. She was also on my father’s ship.”

Captain Diggle shifted but Oliver did not look in his direction. He didn’t think he could handle the other man’s disinterest at that moment. Instead, Oliver shifted his focus to the large window at the side of the cabin. He realized that this would be the first time he spoke of the events of that night, even though the memories haunted his thoughts.

“It was a pirate attack,” he said carefully, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. “When we were attacked, it was late and I was…with someone. Thea was alone in her cabin.” Oliver smiled sadly. “She was afraid of being at sea, so I told her I would look in on her before I went to sleep. But, my attentions were elsewhere and it grew late, and she was alone when they attacked.”

Oliver’s jaw clenched, remembering the sudden violence of the pirate attack. They had sprung onto the deck like demons emerging from the night, their crazed eyes bright in paint-darkened faces. For a brief moment, he wondered if Captain Diggle and his crew used the same tactic – sidling up to unsuspecting vessels on moon-dark nights, their lamps quenched and their blades blackened. He kept his eyes carefully fixed on the window, staring out into the night, knowing that if he were to look at any of the other occupants of the room his hatred for them and their kind would show. Whatever they were, he needed them if he was to have any hope of getting home or of finding Thea.

“They came out of nowhere, in the middle of the night,” he said simply, his tone impassive. “There was no sound and no warning, and they killed without mercy.”

“They took no prisoners?” The captain’s voice was also expressionless, but at least the question indicated that his interest was piqued.

“Almost none that I saw,” Oliver responded, already knowing what he would have to say next. “My father tried to fight them, but…” He stopped, his composure beginning to falter. It seemed that, even after a year, it was impossible to speak the words.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he heard Felicity say gently, and Oliver’s eyes snapped towards her in surprise. She looked genuinely saddened, and the small nod of appreciation he gave her was not feigned. The captain remained silent.

“I tried to get to Thea,” Oliver continued. For some reason, his eyes were still locked on Felicity and the faint edge of pleading in his voice confused him. He realised that it was important to him that she believed him. If she did, if someone else accepted that he had done everything possible to save Thea, would the ever-present guilt fade? “I did everything I could,” he said quietly, “but there were too many of them and I couldn’t even make it below deck.”

He watched the corner of Felicity’s mouth curl in a small, understanding smile that almost brought him to tears. On some level he realised that she pitied him, she, who was just another pirate like those who had killed his father and taken his sister. Why then did her sympathy affect him so deeply? But the answer was obvious - if even a pirate could pity him, he was truly pitiful. After all, he was the one who had failed his sister when she needed him most.

“You believe she is still alive?”

The captain’s deep voice startled Oliver, not least because it sounded almost compassionate. He turned towards the other man and was surprised to see that his expression was gentle, with a level of understanding beyond that of a casual listener. For the first time, Oliver wondered if the captain had a family, besides whatever it was he had with Felicity.

“Yes,” Oliver answered immediately. “I saw her, just before I was knocked overboard. They were dragging her across the deck, towards their ship…” he hesitated, but his voice cracked only slightly, “and she was calling my name."

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity murmured.

“She’s not dead,” Oliver said firmly. He looked at the captain and Felicity in turn, willing them to understand. “They were taking her towards their ship. They wouldn’t do that if they were going to kill her. Besides, she’s a Queen of Port Starling, and that means she’s valuable.”

He bit his tongue on the hundred other arguments he had thought up during his year on the island, all of the many reasons he had to believe that his sister was still alive. For all he knew, her ransom could have already been paid and, at that very moment, she was safely at home in Port Starling with their mother.

“Did you see their flag?” The patience in Captain Diggle’s tone was somehow worse than any reaction Oliver had expected. It was as if the man was simply humouring him, waiting until Oliver finally accepted what the captain already believed to be the truth.

“Yes,” Oliver answered firmly. “I will never forget it. It was a black flag with three white stripes, almost vertical.” He looked from Felicity to Captain Diggle. “Do you know it?”

His heart sank as he watched Felicity and the captain exchange a long, weighted look.

“Yes, we know it,” the other man answered finally. Oliver looked towards Felicity, who was shaking her head slowly.

“That’s Captain Merlyn’s flag,” she breathed.

* * *

 

Oliver leaned over the ship rail and stared into the water, ignoring the chill night breeze biting at his bare arms. He was too preoccupied to notice the cold, Captain Diggle’s firm voice cycling endlessly through his mind. 

 _Merlyn doesn’t take prisoners_ , _he doesn’t bother with ransoms. He attacks out of nowhere and then disappears the same way. He doesn’t take women. Maybe it’s better that way. Don’t let Felicity’s situation here fool you. This world is not kind to women._

That had been the worst part. Oliver realised the man had been trying to help, trying to awaken him to the reality of the situation without detailing everything his sister would have suffered, but somehow the veiled suggestion had been worse. _This world is not kind to women._ There were so many things that that could mean, and Oliver was struggling not to imagine them all.

A light footfall caused him to turn on his heel, his right hand already pulling a small blade from the waistband of his pants. The moonlight fell on pale blond hair and he lowered the knife, meeting Felicity’s surprised eyes. He had stolen the knife from the galley his first day on the ship, and he wondered how he was going to convince her not to tell the captain. But she was already speaking, apparently oblivious to his transgression. 

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily, “I wasn’t trying to frighten you. I mean, I know that I’m not frightening. I don’t think that you would be frightened of me, it’s just, I know you were on that island for a while and, clearly, you’re still uncomfortable with…” she gestured towards him as she spoke, and Oliver’s eyes fell on the light-coloured piece of cloth in her outstretched hand. She followed his gaze and faltered to a stop, cheeks flushing.

“I brought you this,” she said awkwardly. “Your shirt has seen better days.” 

Oliver looked down at the tattered remains of his once fine shirt and couldn’t help thinking of the many implications of that statement. “It has,” he responded finally, replacing the knife quickly and taking the cloth from her hand. “Thank you.”

He felt the weight in the material as soon as he took it from her, and opened it out to reveal a thick, well-made cotton shirt. It looked a little large, but at least it would be warm and comfortable. He shook his head, speechless. It was a simple gesture, but it had been a very long time since anyone had offered him the slightest hint of kindness. Oliver looked at her, his eyes travelling over her face with renewed appreciation. He smiled warmly, with unforced gratitude, and was surprised to see her answer his smile with her own.

"I'm sorry," Felicity said abruptly. Seeing Oliver's confused frown, she continued in a rush. "I'm sorry that we can't take you home just yet, and I'm sorry about your sister. I can see that you love her dearly. Whatever you may think about that night, she is lucky to have someone who cares for her so much."

Oliver simply stared at her, stunned. He could tell from the look in her eye that she was sincere, and he felt his chest constrict as he, quite literally, took her words to heart. She had used the present tense when referring to Thea, probably more for his sake than anything else, but his jaw clenched as he choked down a confusing tumult of emotions.

“Thank you, Felicity,” he managed finally, his voice pitched low but gentle. It was not enough and he held her gaze, trying to express his gratitude wordlessly. The silence stretched for a moment, but it was strangely comfortable. Then Felicity blinked and looked away.

“It’s time we went to bed,” she said finally, turning from him abruptly and beginning to walk across the deck. 

Oliver's jaw dropped open. He knew he had heard her correctly, but he was not quite certain he understood. Was that an invitation? Did she expect him to follow her? More importantly, did he want to follow her? He stood frozen, fully conflicted. But she decided for him, stopping short and pressing her hand to her forehead.

“Ugh,” she groaned loudly, “you know what I meant.”

Oliver nodded, even though she couldn't see him, and tried to look casual when she turned to smile at him over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Um, yes. Sleep well, Felicity.”

He watched her disappear in the direction of the captain’s cabin, and the surge of disappointment that followed rattled him. Oliver shook his head, stunned by his momentary insanity. There was no doubt that Felicity was attractive and her kindness towards him was unexpected, but at the end of the day she was a pirate who survived off the suffering of people like him and his family. Besides, Anatoly’s warning rang in his ears. The last thing he could afford was to get on the captain’s bad side. He still wasn’t sure what their relationship was. Belatedly, he thought of Laurel, but he struggled to summon an image of her to his mind. Oliver had betrayed her in the past, and more than once. He knew she probably believed him dead and was most likely already married to someone else, but he had thought of her often on the island, and the knowledge of how he had wronged her only added to the guilt he already bore. Although he knew now that he didn’t love her, his past behaviour towards her and the other women he had been involved with left a foul taste in his mouth. He did not want to become that man again.

Oliver realised that he was listing reasons, as if to convince himself not to entertain dangerous thoughts, and that unsettled him further. Still, he spent a long time breathing in the cool night air and staring at the waves breaking against the ship's hull, the memory of blue eyes and full lips lingering in the back of his mind. Finally, he slipped below deck to the crew’s quarters, his new shirt clutched tightly in his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

The ship's boat ran around in the shallows with a slight shudder, and Oliver was one of the first of its occupants to swing his legs over the side. The warm water swelled halfway up his shin as his bare feet touched down onto the smooth pebbles. He stood still for a moment, taking his bearings, ignoring the splashing around him as the other crewmen clambered over the side and waded noisily towards the beach.

Cat Island was nothing like Oliver had expected. It was probably less than ten miles across, bordered on one side by sandy beaches and jagged cliffs on the other. A single, peaked mountain dominated its centre. The mountain and most of the island was hidden beneath thick jungle, with the only signs of human habitation being the ramshackle collection of wooden buildings facing the beach where he now stood and the narrow strip of farmland separating the huts from the jungle. There wasn't so much as a pier, which was why they had used the ship's boats to come ashore. Oliver was with one of the last groups to reach the island, and only a skeleton crew remained on board the main vessel. Obviously Cat Island was considered to be a safe harbour, since Captain Diggle and Felicity had been with the first group to land and had long since disappeared into the town. Still, from the excitement that had permeated the ship's crew since Cat Island had first been mentioned, Oliver had expected something more.

"I did not think you would be slow to leave Sara."

Oliver glanced down to see Anatoly squinting at him.

"Sara?" he asked.

The Russian rolled his eyes, wading through the shallows to brace his hands against the side of the boat. With a grunt, he shoved it back towards deeper water. Oliver gripped the hull without waiting to be asked, lending his strength.

"The _Sara_ ," Anatoly repeated, when he had caught his breath. His thick accent was tinged with amused exasperation. "The ship that shelters you, three weeks now."

Oliver held the boat in place as the other man clambered aboard, feeling oddly guilty for not thinking that the pirate vessel might have a name.

"Oh, I... I'm just surprised," he answered finally.  "I thought the captain would be worried I'd escape."

Anatoly reply was preceded by a short, dry laugh. He jerked his chin towards the small island and the ramshackle town. "And you go where?"

Oliver watched the Russian take up the oars and begin rowing back towards the _Sara_. Given Anatoly’s word-weary attitude, Oliver wasn't really surprised to see that the man would not be partaking of whatever distractions Cat Island had to offer. He turned and surveyed the bay and island, instantly recognizing the truth of Anatoly’s parting words. Running would leave him with two options: life in the jungle or life in the town. True, there were two other ships anchored in the bay, a brig and a frigate, but it was very apparent that neither was a navy or merchant vessel. Trading one pirate ship for another was not an attractive concept, and the presence of so many illicitly occupied vessels in one area told Oliver all he needed to know about the type of port Captain Diggle had chosen. The brief flicker of hope he had been harbouring since he first realised he was going to be allowed ashore dimmed. Still, he was not completely out of options.

The leather pouch around his neck felt sticky against his skin, its small collection of coins an unfamiliar but welcome weight. Oliver had been stunned when the Captain had pressed the coins into his palm when the _Sara_ dropped anchor, his wide eyes following the big man as he moved further along the line of waiting crewmen dispensing coins. Felicity was at his side, calling out figures from yet another one of her notebooks as the money was distributed. Apparently, Oliver was owed a salary and, loathe as he was to accept piracy money, he was in no position to refuse. He could make some form of recompense for his crime later, when both he and Thea were safely back in Port Starling.

Oliver trudged up the beach towards the nearest building, a simple wooden cabin angled sideward to the beach. Raucous music reached his ears as he grew closer and he rounded the corner to see several of the ship... the _Sara's_...crewmen already perched on trestle tables, singing along tunelessly to a song being picked out on a small guitar. There were women there too, serving tankards of ale and occasionally joining in the sing-along. Oliver passed on quickly, not looking too closely but nodding at anyone who caught his eye. They responded in kind, but he knew better than to take that as an invitation. He was still a stranger to these men and he knew they had picked up on his background. There was a barrier between them, built on his accent, his manner, and his bearing, and Oliver had no desire to shatter it. Crewmates or not, they were first and foremost pirates in his mind. Still, he felt a familiar pang of loneliness as he wandered up the dirt track between the buildings and further into the town. It was odd to think that he might be more lonely in the midst of a pirate crew than when he was stranded on Lian Yu.

He scanned the simple cabins he passed, searching for any helpful-looking occupants. Regardless of his disappointment in the much-vaunted Cat Island, he still had an opportunity here. If he couldn't get home to Port Starling, he could at least send a message, to tell his mother to search for him, and more importantly, for Thea. Thoughts of Thea made him conscious of the weight of his father's notebook in his shirt pocket. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he should have told Captain Diggle and Felicity about Malcolm Merlyn, which just happened to be one of the names Robert Queen had carefully listed in its pages. Was it a reference to Captain Merlyn, the man who had caused his death and abducted Thea? What did it mean if Robert had listed a pirate's name in his notebook, along with others that Oliver did not recognise? And why had he given that notebook to Oliver "for safekeeping" the very night his ship had been attacked by pirates, under the command of the same captain? Robert had promised to explain the notebook later, but later had never come.  Oliver shook his head. There was still too much that he didn't know, and too many risks in revealing his ignorance to people he barely trusted. All he knew about Captain Diggle was that his name wasn't in the notebook. Nor was there any mention of a Felicity. Whether that was good, bad, or meaningless, he had no idea.

The track Oliver was following took a sharp turn right, winding uphill past another collection of huts. These ones were slightly larger and boasted small front gardens bordering the path. A young woman, olive-skinned and beautiful, looked up from the vegetables she was tending. Her expression was carefully neutral, but she took a short step backwards when Oliver approached.

"Good day," Oliver said politely, sketching a small bow. The woman's eyes crinkled slightly as she suppressed a smile, but she seemed to relax a little.

"Hello," she responded simply, her voice deep and tinged with amusement.

"Forgive me for troubling you, but I would like to send a message to the continent. Do you know of anyone who could help me?"

The woman nodded, relaxing further. "Narrow Jim, just around the corner in the _Borrowed Chest_. He handles most post coming in and out of Cat Island." She shrugged. "He's mostly reliable."

"Mostly," Oliver repeated, his heart sinking. Still, he mustered a smile of gratitude. "'Mostly’ will have to do. Thank you, my lady."

He refrained from a full bow this time, dipping his head slightly instead. The woman smiled warmly for the first time, and Oliver felt her eyes upon him as he turned and continued along the path. He found the inn without difficulty, a weather-beaten sign hanging over a broad porch advertising its presence in faded paint. The chest in question was featured, filled to the brim with golden coins. Oliver grimaced, knowing _borrowed_ was nothing more than a polite euphemism, but he schooled his expression to neutrality as he grew closer to the veranda. The men who occupied it were obviously sailors and probably pirates, their shouted conversation being carried towards Oliver on a wind of rum and tobacco. In truth, they were ostensibly no different than the crew of the _Sara_ , but something in the air made his hair stand on end. As he stepped onto the wooden porch a scuffle broke out between two men. A few voices raised in complaint, and half the men pulled their drinks out of the way as the others stepped in to pull the combatants apart. Oliver circled the edges of the fray and crossed the inn's threshold, ignoring the shouted curses and dull thumps at his back.

The interior of the inn was dark and quiet, but the tension Oliver had noticed outside remained. Other than the bartender, the only occupants were a pair of large men sitting at a small table against the back wall and a single figure drinking quietly in the shadowy far corner. He was dark-haired and lean, but the shadows hid most of his features from Oliver’s enquiring gaze. The scythes leaning against the wall near the large men marked them as farmers. They glanced uneasily towards the doorway as Oliver stepped through and the bartender turned towards him, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"You need some more ale outside?"

"No... I'm not..." Oliver jerked his head towards the doorway and shrugged."I'm not with the gentlemen outside."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, and looked him up and down. "'Gentlemen' indeed. What do you need?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw the farmers relax slightly. Still, their eyes never left him.

"I was told that this was the establishment to visit if I wished to send a letter?"

"This would be the _establishment_ , aye," the bartender cracked a grin. Behind him, Oliver heard one of the farmers snigger. "I'm assuming a _gentleman_ such as yourself has the coin?"

Oliver struggled to restrain a glare. He had never liked being mocked. Instead, he reached inside his open shirt, jingling the coins that hung in the leather pouch about his neck.

The bartender jerked his head to a door next to the bar. "There's a writing desk in the back. Bring your undoubtedly eloquent missive back here when you're done and I'll take care of it."

Oliver nodded and moved towards the doorway, biting his tongue against the man's attempts to needle him.

"You want a drink while you're at it? I guarantee you your prose will be all the better for it."

Oliver hesitated, but only for a moment. The last drink he had had was with his father, when the only problem he had was hiding his indiscretions from Laurel and Thea had been safe and well, sound asleep in the next room.

"No," he grunted over his shoulder. His response was gruffer than he intended and the bartender did not reply.

A few moments later he was standing before the writing desk, which was, to his surprise, a solid-oak writing cabinet, intricately carved and inlaid with coloured shell. He wondered how it had ended up in _The Borrowed Chest_. The backroom was, in fact, a stock room, with multiple shelves lining the walls and crates stacked across the floor. The afternoon sun streamed in through a small window beside the desk, which was positioned next to the padlocked back door. Oliver quickly set up the quill and ink and scratched a single word across the coarse paper.

_Mother_

He hesitated for a moment, images of his father and sister floating through his mind. Where to begin?

 _I am in good health and currently on Cat Island, although I do not expect to remain here for long._ _The Gambit was attacked by a pirate named Captain Merlyn. Thea was captured. Please alert the Governor and ask him to send the Royal Navy to find her. I'm searching for her too, but my freedom is limited at present._

Oliver hesitated, suddenly reluctant to commit the words _Captain Diggle_ or _Sara_ to paper. Would his mother convince the Governor to send the Royal Navy after the _Sara_ as well? Oliver's gut clenched at a sudden mental image of Navy cannon firing on the ship, of the ship’s hull splintering and breaking apart. An image of Felicity clinging to the side rail as the captain shielded her from the cannon fire quickly followed. Oliver grit his jaw and continued writing, making no mention of the _Sara_ or her crew. He told himself his decision was borne out of gratitude towards the people who had helped him and a sense of decency. Setting the Navy on them after they had saved him from his isolation on Lian Yu would be ungrateful and wrong. He had to hope his mother would understand.

_I'm sorry for the brevity of this missive, Mother. Please try not to worry about me. I will do my utmost to return to you, but both of our efforts must be focused on finding Thea._

There was only one last thing to add. Oliver's hand began to tremble and he dropped the pen into the ink well. Ignoring the splashing ink, he clenched his fists to still them. How did a son tell his mother that her husband was dead?

A deep and familiar voice suddenly reverberated through the half-open doorway from the bar outside, making him jump.

"Jim, good to see _The Chest_ is still standing."

"John Diggle... can this mean the _Sara_ 's still afloat?" The bartender's reply was quick, but laced with good humour.

Oliver froze. He hadn't been ordered not to contact his family, but he doubted the captain would be happy about it. He glanced towards the open window behind him and considered escaping before Captain Diggle discovered his presence. His eyes fell on the unfinished letter and he grimaced; he hadn't paid the bartender, and if he left now he assumed the man wouldn't bother to send the letter at all. Oliver sighed quietly, folding his arms and leaning his hip against the desk. He'd just have to wait the captain out - hopefully the man wasn't a big drinker. The bartender's voice echoed through the door again, taking on a softer tone that Oliver had difficulty attaching to the sardonic man who had greeted him earlier.

"Dear Miss Smoak, you look as radiant as ever."

"Thank you, Jim. How is Marya? The last I heard she was a few months along."

"She is wonderful, just wonderful. Her little one is almost two weeks old now. A beautiful little granddaughter."

"That's good news, Jim." The captain's tone was warm. "Felicity and I will be sure to stop in to see them both before we leave port."

"Of course, you are always welcome. You're here for your post, I take it?"

Oliver stiffened, glancing between the doorway leading to the barroom and the back door. He almost groaned when his eyes fell on the stacks of letters lining one of the nearby shelves. As if on cue, footsteps began approaching the stock room. But another sound soon followed, that of a chair being pushed back across the wooden floor. The footsteps stopped abruptly and a sudden silence fell over the inn. The only sound was the raucous singing of the sailors on the veranda, loud through the thin wooden walls of the building. A new voice cut through the silence inside the inn, low and threatening.

"Well, if it isn't my old friend, John Diggle."

"Lawton." The captain's voice was tight with tension. "Last I heard, you weren't welcome in these waters."

The other man gave a low chuckle. "Times change, John. People make new acquaintances and they acquire new opportunities."

Multiple footsteps sounded on the inn's wooden floor, and Oliver realised the singing from outside had stopped. He slipped closer to the door of the stock room and edged it open slightly as the bartender spoke.

"Now, Captain Lawton, there's absolutely no need for any trouble. Captain Diggle and his friend are just going to get their post and then they'll be on their way."

The man's voice shook with nervousness. Peering through the crack in the open door, Oliver understood why. The men from outside, who were apparently Lawton's crew, had filed in through the inn's entrance, half surrounding Diggle and Felicity. Oliver now recognised Lawton himself as the man who had been drinking alone when he had first entered the _Borrowed Chest_. He stood slightly ahead of his crew, his left eye covered by a dark patch and his open shirt revealing script-like tattoos etched across his chest. Two slim pistols hung on either hip and three more were strapped across his chest. He was smiling at Captain Diggle with a look that was half taunting, half sneering, and Oliver could see the muscles in the other man's neck tighten. He glanced back into the room, towards the back door, knowing that now would be the best time to escape whatever brawl was about to kick off. Still, an irrational sense of guilt held him in place. Then, Lawton spoke again and Oliver felt his tenuous decision to flee shatter.

"I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend, John. I thought the Diggle boys were raised better than that."

"My name is Felicity Smoak. Don't bother introducing yourself, I already know who you are."

Hearing the bravery in her voice, Oliver shut his eyes, his jaw clenching almost painfully. When he opened them again, his mind was made up. Grabbing the quill, he quickly scrawled his signature across the bottom, blotted the page, and sealed it with wax. He added his mother's name and Port Starling. Turning towards the shelves, he noted with relief that the received letters were sorted into bundles and grouped alphabetically. He found the small stack of post marked "Diggle" easily. Taking a breath, Oliver squared his shoulders, pulled the door open, and strode confidently into the barroom.

"Here’s your post, Captain," he called, approaching the big man with the letters extended in his hand. The captain met his eyes steadily, masking his surprise well. He took the letters with a nod of thanks and stuffed them into his jacket. The moment the captain received the letters his attention snapped back to Lawton, and the look of hatred in the big man’s eyes was unmistakeable. Oliver glanced toward Felicity for a brief moment, doing his best to throw her a reassuring look. He was surprised by the relief he saw reflected in her eyes. Ignoring Lawton and his crew, Oliver leaned across the bar and handed his letter to the wide-eyed bartender, pressing two coins into his palm. "Please make sure this is sent as soon as possible.”

Only then did he turn towards the gathered men, positioning himself at Diggle's left side. Felicity was on the other side of the captain, which concerned him slightly, but there was little he could do about it. Instead, he rested his hand casually on the knife in his belt, meeting the eyes of the men who surrounded them. He could feel the tension radiating off the captain, his entire body tense with some restrained emotion as he stared at Lawton.

"Captain, I think we'd best be getting back to the ship," Oliver announced. "I believe you have some matters to attend to there."

There was a pause, and for a moment Oliver thought that Diggle was going to throw himself at Lawton right there, regardless of how outnumbered they were. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felicity shift. Diggle's head turned towards her for a moment and Oliver heard him sigh.

"Of course," the big man finally responded. "The men are waiting. Lawton, you and I will have to reminisce some other time." He put a hand to Felicity's back and followed her towards the door, with Oliver coming close behind them. They had only taken a few steps before Lawton's voice drawled after them.

"No, John, I think we should do our reminiscing right now."


	6. Chapter 6

Every muscle in Oliver’s body tensed at Lawton’s words. At the same moment, the sailors standing between Felicity and the door pressed closer together, cutting off their escape. Despite his obvious fear of Lawton, Narrow Jim spoke up.

“Captain Lawton, you know the rules about fighting in my inn. I’m afraid you and your men will have to leave.”

Whatever reply Lawton would have given was silenced by the sound of chairs scraping loudly across the floor. Every eye in the room turned towards the sound. The two farmers, whom Oliver had almost completely forgotten about, had risen to their feet. They stood glaring at Lawton and his men, their long scythes held loosely before them. Lawton’s men shifted, their attention drawn to the farmers’ polished blades.

“Run, Felicity!” Diggle roared.

Felicity moved without hesitation. From behind Diggle’s back, Oliver saw her dodge past one of the sailors blocking her way and dash through the doorway. The captain followed immediately after her, shoving men from his path. Oliver stuck closely to his heels.

Even though it was late afternoon, the contrast between the shadowy inn and the bright sunlight bleaching the street outside was blinding. Oliver squinted into the sunlight, but his steps didn’t falter as he followed the captain down the hill, trusting that he and Felicity knew the best path to safety. Shouts rang out close behind them, and Oliver knew that the momentary distraction created by the farmers had only just given them enough time to escape the inn. Ahead of him, Diggle veered off the street to take a narrow path between two nearby houses. Felicity was out of sight, but Oliver assumed she was further ahead. He took the turn without hesitation. The buildings here were larger and sturdier than those further up the hill. They were also closely packed, separated only by dirt tracks and alleyways, with washing lines loaded with sheets and clothing strung between them. Oliver caught a glimpse of blond hair as Felicity lurched to the right, before his view was blocked by Diggle. This time, Oliver almost stumbled as he turned the corner. He steadied himself with a quick hand against a nearby wall, just as a shout sounded close behind him. Glancing back, he saw two of Lawton’s men sprinting towards him, barely ten feet away. Oliver pushed away from the building and raced after Diggle, who was already turning left up ahead.

By the time Oliver rounded the same corner, there was no sign of either Diggle or Felicity. Knowing Lawton’s men weren’t far behind, Oliver kept up his pace, running straight along the narrow path while scanning left to right for any sign of the others. In front of him, the track opened onto a broad and busy avenue, which was definitely busy enough to be the main street of the town. Oliver had almost reached it when a hand appeared from a doorway to his left, grasping him by his shirt and yanking him from his feet.

Oliver stumbled through the doorway, his fall slowed only by the grip on the back of his shirt. He landed heavily on his knees, the palms of his hands slamming onto wooden floorboards. When he looked up, he was staring directly into Felicity’s wide blue eyes. She was crouched against the wall of the house, her head just below the bottom of the window looking out onto the path. He didn’t need to glance back to know that it was Captain Diggle’s hand that still had a firm grip on his shirt. Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of running footsteps pounding on the pathway outside made him reach for Felicity instead, his hand tight on her shoulder as he pushed her head lower beneath the window.

A few tense moments passed, as the footsteps echoed through the wooden building and the shouts of their pursuers rang loudly in their ears. When it grew quieter, Oliver felt Diggle relax his grip on his shirt. A moment later, Oliver removed his hand from Felicity’s shoulder. She was wearing a shirt that seemed a few sizes too big for her, the collar wide and open and the top buttons unfastened, and Oliver’s thumb had inadvertently rested on her bare skin. Avoiding her gaze, Oliver looked around their shelter, quickly realizing they were in the kitchen of a reasonably large house. They were crouched beneath a large glass window, opposite a heavy wooden table that dominated the centre of the room. The house was quiet, hopefully empty; even though a stairs against the far wall led up to a second floor, there were no sounds of movement.

The kitchen fell into shadow as someone raced past the window, close enough for Oliver to hear his heavy breathing. Beside him, Felicity tensed. This time, Oliver resisted the urge to reach for her, his hand clenching tightly into a fist instead. A loud voice from somewhere close by drove all such thoughts from his mind.

“They must be hiding in one of the houses. Search each one, inch by inch. My instructions are to make sure John Diggle doesn’t escape.”

The speaker was unmistakeably Lawton. Oliver looked towards Diggle, wondering if the mention of instructions made any sense to him. Up to that point, Oliver had assumed that he and Lawton were simply two pirates with some sort of longstanding grudge against each other, probably related to backstabbing or theft. But if the other man was confused, it was not evident in his features. Instead, his expression was grim and resolute.

“If we stay here, they’ll find us,” Diggle whispered. Although his words were directed at both of them, his focus was firmly on Felicity. “I’ll lead them away and give you a chance to escape.”

“John, no,” Felicity murmured. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You heard Lawton, Felicity. They’re only after me. You know it’s the only way.” His tone was gentle and, once again, Oliver wondered about the true nature of his relationship with Felicity.

After a moment’s silence, Felicity nodded. She bit her lip as if to stop herself from saying something else, but her eyes were wet with tears. Diggle turned his attention towards Oliver. For a moment, he said nothing, scanning Oliver’s face as if searching for something.

“I’ll see you both back on the ship,” he said finally.

There was an edge of uncertainty to his tone, but also the hint of a request. Oliver knew that the other man would never plead with him for help directly, but the request was there all the same. He also knew that Diggle would never have entrusted him with Felicity's safety if he had had any other option. Oddly stung by the captain’s lack of faith in him, especially where Felicity was concerned, Oliver clasped the captain’s hand in a firm grip.

“We’ll see you there.”

For a moment, Diggle seemed unconvinced. Then, he nodded curtly. He shared a long, final look with Felicity; then, he was gone. A few moments later, shouts sounded in the distance and feet thundered past outside.

Oliver waited for ten long breaths before crawling towards the doorway. A slight scuffling sound indicated that Felicity was following. Leaning forward, he peered out into the alleyway. He almost swore aloud when he saw a sailor posted at the top of the alley, just where it met the main street. The man was staring straight down the path. There was no way they could exit through the doorway. Oliver crawled back inside and met Felicity’s questioning gaze.

“They’ve got a man posted outside,” he whispered. “He must be watching to make sure the captain doesn’t double back.”

Felicity nodded, her brow furrowed. She looked anxious, but Oliver suspected most of her concern was for Diggle rather than herself. He touched her lightly on the shoulder, making sure his hand rested safely on the fabric of her shirt this time.

“Hey,” he said softly, waiting for her to look at him. “He’ll be ok. The captain knows what he’s doing.”

Oliver had no idea if what he was saying was true, but the hope and gratitude in Felicity’s eyes told him that he was at least doing something right. Without breaking her gaze, Oliver jerked his head towards the stairs on the opposite side of the room. Felicity frowned, but when Oliver began to move she followed him silently.

The stairs opened onto a landing with three closed doors. Oliver chose the one into the room on the opposite side of the house from the alleyway. It was a small bedroom, as empty as he had hoped. Crossing to the window, he angled his head carefully so he could see out onto the path at the front of the building. Sure enough, another sailor was posted at the top of that alley was as well. Oliver nodded grimly, relieved he hadn’t bothered trying to leave through the front door of the house. He turned his attention to the clothes line strung between the rooftop and the neighbouring building. The buildings followed the line of the hill, and the clothes line sloped downwards and away from them.

“There’s another one of Lawton’s men on this side,” Oliver said quietly, turning back to Felicity.

“So what do we do now?”

Not bothering to reply, Oliver grabbed a sheet from the bed and pushed the window open. Stepping up onto the sill, he looped the over the washing line and tugged on it, testing its strength. When he turned back towards the room, Felicity was already standing next to him. He reached a hand towards her and helped her up onto the windowsill, noting the uneasy expression on her face. She leaned into him and Oliver looped an arm around her waist, steadying her. He realized she was staring down at the ground with a nervous expression.

“Felicity,” he murmured. Felicity’s head snapped towards him, her eyes wide and stunningly blue as they met his. Her breath blew lightly across his face. Oliver swallowed and tugged her closer, her body fitting tightly against his side. His eyes never left hers. “Hold onto me tight.”

Felicity’s arm looped around his shoulders and tightened, even as Oliver kicked away from the windowsill and swung them out into the air. This alley was slightly wider than the one on the other side, but still it was only a matter of moments before their feet touched down on the windowsill of the opposite house. Felicity had turned her head into his neck, her breath warm on his skin, and it was only when Oliver relaxed his grip on her waist that she finally loosened the arm around his neck. Oliver helped her up onto the roof of the building and followed quickly after, dragging the bed sheet up with them so as not to attract the attention of Lawton’s men. He waited for a moment, squinting down the hill into the afternoon sun, trying to catch some glimpse of Diggle or his pursuers. He thought he could hear shouting in the distance, maybe the clash of steel, but all he could see was a chaotic muddle of wooden rooftops stretching down towards the beach.

“We have to get back to the _Sara_ ,” Felicity murmured. Her voice was tight was worry.

Oliver nodded in agreement and followed her across the rooftop. A sturdy tree stood next to the house, one of its branches stretching out over the rooftop. Looking down, Oliver saw that it stood in a large garden bordering the main street. Although not overgrown, the garden was filled with thick, leafy shrubs, offering cover from prying eyes. Deciding it was safe to descend, Oliver took a step forward, intending to go first and help Felicity to climb down. He stopped short when Felicity slipped past him and stepped onto the branch. She descended the tree trunk carefully, picking her steps, but she still made it down safely. A moment later, when they were both on the ground, she noted Oliver’s questioning look and raised an eyebrow. Her mouth curled in a small smile despite her anxiety.

“Climbing a tree isn’t much different than climbing a mast. I don’t enjoy either but, when the situation calls for it...” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but his words died in his throat when Felicity’s expression suddenly changed to one of pure terror. She grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him towards the ground, into the concealing shrubbery. He went with her, partly due to his surprise and partly due to the genuine fear on her face. He fell awkwardly to his knees behind a large bush, careful not to fall across Felicity. She was on her knees as well, still facing him, her face pale and her fists gripping his shirt with surprising strength. Oliver realized that this was the first time he had seen her genuinely afraid. He instinctively grasped her arms above her elbows, lightly stroking her bare skin with his thumbs.

“What is it?”

“The Royal Navy!”

Felicity said the words with the same abject terror that a lady from Port Starling would have said, “Pirates!” But, to Oliver, the words were a blessing. He almost sprang to his feet right there, but Felicity’s fists in his shirt held him place. He peered frantically through the shrubbery, searching for whomever Felicity had seen, wanting nothing more than to stand up and to call to them, so that he could step forward and identify himself. It was almost too much to imagine that he could finally return to Port Starling, to gentleman's lifestyle that was his birthright, and that he would finally be able to search for Thea using the full force of his family’s resources. But then he remembered Felicity and the terror in her tone. The crime for piracy was death by hanging. Unsuccessfully, he tried not to picture that fate for her.

Some of Oliver’s thoughts must have shown on his face, because Felicity’s expression was shuttered when he turned to face her. Her grip on his shirt loosened.

“Go to them, Oliver,” she whispered. “They can take you home. They can help you search for your sister.”

There was venom in the way she said “they”, but Oliver could tell she was trying to conceal it for his sake, so that he would not feel conflicted about abandoning her. Something, not exactly gratitude or amazement, swelled in his chest. He ignored his discomfort by voicing the thought at the forefront of his mind.

“They’ll hang you.” For a moment, Felicity’s eyes showed only panic, and Oliver winced at the bluntness of his words.

“They won’t catch me,” she said defiantly.

“If they don’t, Lawton’s men might.”

Felicity rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but Oliver stopped her words with a hand on her shoulder.

“Look, I promised Captain Diggle that I would get you back to the ship.” He waited for her to look at him and then he held her gaze, willing her to accept his words. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“But, your sister...”

“Once I get you back to the _Sara_ and you’re safely away, I’ll make myself known to the navy.”

For a long moment, Oliver thought Felicity would continue to argue with him. Instead, she pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. She was frowning, obviously unhappy, but at least she wasn’t arguing with him. Oliver almost sighed in relief. He began to moved off through the brushes, but a sharp tug on his hand pulled him back. Felicity hadn’t moved. He looked at her questioningly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Oliver squeezed her hand in response, his answering smile warm and genuine. This time, Felicity followed him as he crossed the garden.


End file.
